His Office
by Helen West
Summary: A new fellow at the University of Colorado discovers that she is not alone there. The past reaches out to this historian in a whole new way. This is a spoiler for Not Again!, Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, Two Degrees of Separation Parts I and II, and most of Two Sheepskins and a Star. So either read those first or maybe this will get you interested.
1. Chapter 1

A shorter version of this story was originally posted on another board for a challenge featuring real historical people, events, and places. This will be a much expanded, multiple chapter, version of the original with new events and more detail. This first part is pretty close to the original posted story, with a few details added. The next part will introduce more changes.

His Office

"We'll get there sometime, Murray," said Karen from the driver's seat of her Jeep, addressing the cat in a carrier. "Maybe we haven't gone far enough yet. Wish I had a working GPS, but you know it gave up outside St. Louis."

In his mournful voice, Murray said, "Mrow."

"I know, you want to get out," said Karen. "Me, too. I've been driving all day." She looked along the Colorado highway for a place where a cat might be able to take a few steps and relieve himself in safety.

Karen cried, "Look! There's an historical marker. There's even a tree or two to shade you from all this blazing afternoon sun. Let's go!" She pulled in near the metal sign.

"Mrow."

"Yeah, yeah. But let me take a look at the marker while you go." Karen got Murray out of his carrier and into his harness. She opened the door of the Jeep and he jumped out. He sniffed around with delicate, feline care. Karen waited impatiently. "Come on, come on, let me read the sign. Well, if you must pee on the sign post."

"Curry Gulch. I never heard of an historical marker for a gulch before. It says – let me read, you disrespectful beast. This is history! 'Kid Curry's horse, Old Crow, is said to have jumped over this gulch during a desperate chase in 1892 in pursuit of a murderer known as Scarface LaRue. Curry and his partner, Hannibal Heyes, the infamous outlaws, had been granted amnesty in 1891. Curry became the sheriff for Louisville, Colorado.'"

"Gee," said Karen. "Old Crow must have been a champion jumper. Or maybe the gulch has gotten bigger in the last 124 years. Anyhow, it's cool to be in old outlaw country."

A few minutes after getting back on the highway, Karen exclaimed. "There it is, the exit for the University of Colorado." She steered onto the ramp and onto the local road. "Now let's find that house where we'll be staying."

After twenty minutes of wandering through Boulder, distracted by the spectacular mountains looming just outside town, Karen found the unremarkable house in a bland suburb. The key was hidden under a flowerpot. It didn't take long to get Murray's carrier inside and to bring in the luggage.

"I better go check in with the Colorado folks so I can get my files and books put away in my office. Here, let's get you some water and some food and set up your box. There. You alright, old boy?" The big cat rubbed against his mistress's jeans, then padded off to continue exploring his new home. "See you soon, Murray!" called Karen as she went to get back in the Jeep.

Karen drove around campus until she found guest parking. She slung her messenger bag full of books over her shoulder and grabbed a plastic box full of files.

Karen walked uncertainly along one of the paths between the stone buildings and towering trees. A voice behind her said, "Are you lost?"

"Yeah, I'm new here." Karen turned to address a tall, gawky man with a blond ponytail. "Can you help me find Old Main?"

The stranger smiled. "Sure. It's just up that path." He pointed up a steep hill. "It's a big, brick building with a tower over the front door and another over the back. You can't miss it. It was the first building on campus - built in 1876."

Karen smiled back. "Great! Thanks! It'll be nice to have my office in an historical building, since I do history."

"You're an historian?" asked the blond man.

Karen nodded. "Yeah. I'm a pre-doc fellow, finishing up my dissertation."

"What kind of history are you working on?" Asked the man.

Karen explained. "Ancient Sumer. It's in Iraq now. Or part of it is."

The blond man was impressed. "Cool! Or hot, I bet. Why are you writing here, not over there?"

"I was there last year, but it's not real safe over there, as I bet you know. The digging is done, and analyzing the material. I just need a place where I can have my books and papers and get some peace to write. It's kind of weird that I'm here in the middle of so much old West history and I don't know anything about it. But they gave me an office here and funding. What about you? Are you a professor?"

The blonde man grinned. "Aw, no. Just a PhD student. I'm in mathematics. I'm Wen." He extended a slender, tanned hand.

"Hi! I'm Karen. See you around. I better go and find my office and start moving my stuff in. There's a lot of it. Thanks for the directions."

"Sure. See you!"

Karen strode up the hill. Once she got past a hedge, she realized Wen was right. You really couldn't miss the cocky old West magnificence of Old Main.

Karen steadied the strap of her bag on her shoulder and got a good grip on her box of files, then scaled the precipitous stone stairs up to the showy front doors with their Gothic arch.

Inside, she found polished wood floors and a grand staircase. Overhead were glass and brass chandeliers that looked as if they had once been illuminated by gas. "Wow, great Victorian interior!" Exclaimed Karen.

A middle-aged woman in jeans walked out of one of the white painted wood doors leading off the hall. "Thank you! Hello!" She said with a friendly smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi!" Said the newcomer. "I'm Karen, the new Williams Foundation Fellow."

"Ah, good. You got here safely. It must have been a long drive from Pennsylvania. Welcome to the University of Colorado! I'm Alice McCall. You know - the fellowship coordinator."

"Oh, yes. Glad to meet you, Ms. McCall, after emailing back and forth do much." The two women shook hands.

"Thanks! Your work sounds fascinating! Call me Alice."

Karen grinned. "Thank you, Alice. What a neat old building! So it was built in 1876?"

Alice nodded. "That's right. When Old Main was built, there was nothing here but grass and wind. In fact, the wind blew out some of the windows before the architects knew what they were dealing with. When you have time, you'll have to go up to the Heritage Center on the third floor. There are some very colorful pictures and the staff are great."

"Cool!" Said Karen, "I'd love to see it. But first, I've got a bunch of books and file boxes to put in my office."

"Of course," Said Ms. McCall, "I'll get you your key."

"Great," said Karen as she followed the coordinator down the hall to her office.

"Here's your key," said Ms. McCall. "And here's the sheet with your campus ID information so you can get onto our server. You'll find lots of information on the web site, but let me know any questions."

Karen read tag on the key. "Thanks! Room 12. Where is that?"

Alice pointed. "Down the hall to the right. Let me know if I can help you with anything. I've got some work to do and then I'll be locking up."

Karen hurried down the hall, eager to get her things put away before Alice locked up. When she found the room, she put down her file box and dug for her key. Finding it, she looked up. She was taken aback to see, through the glass panel in office door, a man bent over what she thought must be her desk. Karen hurried back down the hall. "Alice! There's a guy in my office. Could I have the wrong room?"

"What?" Alice was surprised. "There's no one in the building except you and me. Or there shouldn't be." She followed Karen back down the hall. "That's your door alright." She knocked on the door and got no answer. Then she borrowed Karen's key and opened the door. "Well there's no one here now. Did you ask the man who he was?"

"No. I just saw him through the . . . Wait a minute, I thought the glass was clear. It's frosted. I couldn't have seen anyone in there. Sorry, Alice. I don't know what I saw." Karen looked through the door. There was no one in the office – just a desk, a rolling chair, a lamp, a bookcase with one book on it, and an old file cabinet.

"Funny," said Alice as Karen began to put her books on the shelves. She spoke uncertainly. "Maybe you saw a reflection in the glass of the guy on that poster on the hall wall behind us."

"Probably," said Karen dubiously. "Oh well, I better hurry and move my boxes so you can lock up and go home."

While Alice went back to her office, Karen went out to get her things.

She was glad to see Wen getting up from a bench where he been studying his smart phone. "Hi again, Karen. You want some help moving your things?" he asked.

"You bet!" Answered the new fellow. "I'll take you out for pizza afterward, if you'll show me a good place."

"It's a deal," Said Wen.

The pair fetched a file box and a tote bag of books each from her car and hiked back up to Old Main. As they got to Karen's new office, her new friend grinned.

"Cool!" Exclaimed Wen. "You got his office!"

"Whose office?" Asked Karen.

Wen's blue eyes shown with enthusiasm as Karen opened the door. "Hannibal Heyes."

Karen was startled. "You're kidding me. Why would an infamous outlaw have an office at a university?"

Wen laughed affably. "You're kidding me! You came to be a fellow at the University of Colorado and you didn't know that Hannibal Heyes taught math here in the 1890s? Why do you think they call us the Outlaws?"

"I thought you were the Buffaloes." Karen sounded skeptical.

"We are, officially. But if you go to a football game this fall, you'll see a lot of fans in black cowboy hats and hear a lot of people yelling 'Stand and deliver!'"

As they fetched the last load of file boxes, Karen said. "I know Curry and Heyes got amnesty in 1891 - I read that on an historical marker. But wouldn't Heyes have needed a graduate degree to teach college?"

Wen knew the story cold. "Oh, yes. He got an MA from Columbia University, using an alias. He was really brilliant, they say. After he and Kid Curry got amnesty, Heyes got a PhD. He taught here for years."

As they put away her things, Karen said, "Um, I had something weird happen earlier. I don't want you to think I'm nuts, but for just a second I thought I saw a guy sitting at the desk, through the glass, before I opened the door. Alice thought I saw the reflection of the poster over there. But the guy in the poster is a blond. The guy I saw had dark hair. And he was bent over a roll-top desk, like in the nineteenth century. It was nothing like the desk that's here now."

Wen's eyes opened wide. He got out his smart phone and clicked a few times. "Here," he said eagerly, holding up the phone for Karen to see a black-and-white picture of a dark-haired man in a high white collar. "Is that him?"

Karen stared at the picture. "Maybe. Hard to tell. Good looking like that, anyhow. But this picture is a three-quarter view. The guy I saw was in profile."

"Which side?" Asked Wen avidly.

"The right." Karen didn't hesitate.

"Damn! So you couldn't see the dimple or the scars." Wen sounded frustrated.

The new fellow suddenly realized what Wen meant. "You're talking about Hannibal Heyes?"

Wen nodded. "It's been years since anybody saw him. I've always hoped I would. My great-great grand uncle was Everett Carter, one of Heyes' best friends."

"Your uncle was a western outlaw?" Karen asked in disbelief.

Wen laughed. "Nah. He was a math teacher from Long Island. They met at Columbia University. Of course, my Uncle Ev died long before I was born, or even my father."

Karen looked around uneasily at the small office with its dark wood trim. "But seriously, you mean my office is haunted?"

Wen nodded. "Well, at least it used to be. Nobody's seen Heyes for years. Maybe he's back. Are you afraid of ghosts?"

Karen said, "Yes. Or, I thought I would be. But the guy I saw wasn't scary. He seemed nice. But let's go get that pizza. I'm starved!"

The two grad students sat at a sidewalk table in front of the pizza place. Karen asked, "So, when people saw the ghost of Hannibal Heyes, what did he do?"

Wen finished a bite of pepperoni pizza. "Nothing bad, don't worry. What I heard was he just showed up here and there."

"Where do you mean, here and there?" Karen asked.

Wen explained, "On campus, over in the coal town of Louisville where he and his partner lived and ran a hotel after they got amnesty, and out at Heyes Castle."

"Heyes Castle?" Karen asked, puzzled.

"A big, rambling old house he built for his family. It's still there, in the Flatirons, just a few miles from here."

Karen was interested. "Wow! Have you been there?"

Wen said, "No. It's been closed up since I've been here, and it's on private property. Still belongs to the Heyes family, I guess. You want to see it?"

"Maybe. Or not. Gosh, I might have to avoid working late, unless I want company." The two laughed.

"Has anyone ever seen Kid Curry's ghost?" Asked Karen.

Wen answered, "Yes. People have said they saw him riding around Louisville, with his partner, usually. But that was a long time ago. I don't know details."

The new fellow asked, "Is there an historical society in Louisville?"

"Yes. You want to go over there next weekend?" Wen suggested, trying not to sound too excited. But the sparkle in his grey eyes gave him away.

Now Karen sounded a little shy. "Yeah. But don't tell them I saw Heyes. If I did. Most historians don't take ghost sightings too seriously."

"What do you mean, if you did? Who else would you see sitting at a roll top desk in Hannibal Heyes' office?"

The early part of Karen's first week at U.C. was taken up with administrative things – getting an ID and a library card and so on. Then she added a few pages to her dissertation. Her only outlaw investigations took place in the evenings, as she combed the internet for whatever she could find on Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry and their time around Boulder and Louisville.

On Friday, she remembered the anonymous book that had been lying on a shelf when she had arrived in her office. She found it between two of her own books. The gold letting had worn off the spine until it was illegible. Karen opened the antique volume cautiously. The title page read, "A Study in Applied Mathematics, Professor Charles Hawthorne Homer, PhD." It had been published in 1883. There was an inscription inside the cover. In spidery writing in fading brown ink, it said, "To Professor H. Joshua Heyes, with affection. I hope you will soon replace this old text with your own. Good luck in Colorado. Charlie. August 25, 1891."

Karen felt she could practically see Professor Homer presenting the volume to his young protégé, filled with hope for a future that was now over a century in the past. It struck her how that promising future had come and gone as the handsome young Professor Heyes had grown grey in this very room. Had he been happy here? Would anyone any longer know, or care? She remembered a quote from one of the Laura Ingalls books. The little girl had said, "Now is now. It can never be a long time ago." Karen reached for a tissue.

With those those thoughts playing in her mind, Karen climbed the grand stairs up to the third floor of Old Main. A grey-haired lady at a desk said, "Welcome to the Heritage Center. Have you been here before?"

"No. I just started as a fellow. I'm in office 12. I thought I should come up and learn some more about my predecessor there," said Karen.

The lady behind the desk smiled. "Ah! Let's see what I can find for you on the subject of Hannibal Heyes."

"Thanks! I'd like that very much. But I have something for you. This book was on my bookcase." Karen held out her find.

The lady, identified by a sign on her desk as Mrs. Richards, opened the cover of the volume and smiled sadly. "Ah, yes. Charlie Homer was like a father to Professor Heyes after they met at Columbia. I haven't seen that book in a long while." She placed it on her desk. "I wish I could show you the references to Professor Homer in the signed copy of the autobiography of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry we had. But it disappeared a couple of months ago. We haven't been able to replace it yet. It's very rare. The unique signed copy would be priceless, at least to us."

"That's awful that somebody took it!" Exclaimed Karen with the fervor of an historian protecting her nation's heritage.

"Yes. But we do have some pictures." Mrs. Richards pointed to a reproduction on the wall among other images of the college's early years. It was the same picture Wen had shown to Karen on his smart phone. "This was taken for a newspaper story in 1891. Wasn't he a handsome devil?"

"He sure was!"

Mrs. Richards stepped into an exhibition about the local nineteenth-century photographer Rocky Mountain Joe. "And here he is, pretending to have a gunfight with his partner, hamming it up for the camera. They ran a hotel in Louisville called The Hideout. Easterners loved it. Here's a picture."

"Is it still there?" Asked Karen eagerly. "A friend and I are going over to Louisville this Saturday to visit the historic sites."

"No, I'm afraid not. It burned down in the nineteen twenties. But there's still plenty to see in Louisvile."

Wen and Karen met at Karen's rented house on Saturday morning. "Wow," laughed Wen as he looked around the vinyl tiled kitchen. "All in harvest gold and avocado green. Right out of the 1970s."

"Yeah, a relic in its own right.," said Karen. Her cat appeared and studied Wen, then came close enough for the mathematician to scratch him behind the ears. "Gee, here's Murray. He seems to like you."

"Is that rare?" Asked Wen.

"Sort of. Let's go."

They drove to Louisville in Karen's Jeep. They parked by the false fronted store that housed the Louisville Historical Museum. A lady was starting a tour just as they arrived, so Wen and Karen joined up with three families and their many children. They started in a neighboring building with a model of the historical town. Some devoted history buff had made it with every detail, right down to the red-brown coal mine dust in the streets. The group listened politely as the guide pointed out the railroad tracks, the saloons, the mercantile, and the bank. Soon the children were getting restless.

"Where's the Hideout?" Asked Karen.

"Ah, the hotel run by Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, the famous outlaws, after they got amnesty," said the guide. The guide had their rapt attention again. She pointed at a large building near the center of the model. "It's here on Main Street. It was a sensation with eastern tourists, as you can imagine. And there's the jail where Kid Curry was sheriff, down on Front Street by the railroad tracks. He had a gunfight with the Green River Kid right there in the street – shot his trigger finger clean off!" That fetched oohs and ahhs and shrieks from the children. "And here's Christy's Place, the saloon Kid Curry and his wife had before they bought the Hideout."

"Are any of those places still here?" Asked Karen.

"Not the hotel or the saloon, though there is a saloon that's a little younger that you can visit. It's a restaurant now called 740 Front, because of the address. But the jail has been reconstructed to be like it was when Kid Curry was sheriff there in the 1890s."

"Wow! Can we go there?" Asked a little boy wearing a cowboy hat.

The guide said, "Yes. But first, there's something here in the historical museum that you should see."

She led them back to the Main building. They went past displays on the local coal mines. High in the back was a glass case. It held two aged cowboy hats, one black, and one brown. "There they are," said the guide in awe-struck tones. "The real hats Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes wore when they were outlaws."

"Ooh!" Whispered the children. "Wow!"

"Is that Kid Curry's hat with the hole in it?" Piped up a boy. "The black one with the silver things on it?"

"No," said the guide. "That's Hannibal Heyes' hat. He was the gang leader. He got shot in the head by a murderer. He nearly died." The children loved that, but Karen found herself taking Wen's hand. Neither one of them liked to think of their hero being so badly hurt. Wen didn't seem to mind her hand at all. He put his arm around Karen's shoulder. She didn't mind his arm, either.

After that the whole group walked to the historic recreation jail. They all looked at the sheriff's desk and saw a reproduction of his tin badge. They looked at the stark jail cells and a rack of rifles. "Hannibal Heyes picked a lot of jail cell door locks!" Crowed the guide. The boys were going wild, pulling pretend guns on each other and teasing the girls for being scared. Wen and Karen left while the guide was taking the group to see an historic house from the turn of the century.

They went toward Front Street. They lingered on the sidewalk in front of where Christy's Place had been, but there was a chic boutique there now. No historic atmosphere remained.

They went to eat at the 740 Front Saloon, which was cleaned up a great deal from its saloon days, though the carved wooden bar was well worth a look. The pair sat there.

The bartender told them, "The coal miners came in here a lot in the old days. Some of the mine entrances were right here in town close enough to walk to. That gutter down on the floor at the front of the bar that's glassed over now, used to have water it. Men used it for a giant spittoon." He winked. "And maybe other liquids went in there, too."

Wen and Karen laughed and looked down with distate.

When the bartender turned away, the conversation turned back to the day's Historical visit.

"I don't know why I'm disappointed," muttered Wen. "I wasn't expecting Kid Curry's ghost to come out and frighten all the kids or something."

"Of course not. But still, I know what you mean," said Karen. "You go to the actual place right where they were and you expect some real connection. Like I had for just a second there in my office. And I didn't even know who he was until you told me. Having all those strangers around today made it impossible to really connect. But we did get to see their real hats, with the hole where poor Heyes was shot. So dusty and faded, now. It reminds me of how long ago they lived, even if it was right here."

Wen took a sip of beer. "So, what's next, historian? I think our ghost hunt's just beginning."

"Yeah," said Karen. "I want to get closer."

Wen leaned forward and gave his new friend a kiss.

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This story was inspired by a trip I made to Boulder and Louisville in the fall of 2016. Old Main and the Heritage Center there are real and just as I have described them. Rocky Mountain Joe, the historic Boulder photographer, was real and I saw his exhibition at the Heritage Center. Of course, since Hannibal Heyes never taught at the University of Colorado, the school's teams are not not called the Outlaws and no one at games wears black cowboy hats or shouts "Stand and deliver!" Don't you wish it was so? The Louisville Historical Society is real and just as described, except that they don't have an 1890s sheriff's office or the hats of those two infamous outlaws. 740 Front is very real and a great place to eat. The people mentioned in the twenty-first century are all fictional, as are the ones from the nineteenth century other than Rocky Mountain Joe. But the real people I met were wonderful and very helpful. Many thanks go to them. I am now a member of the Louisville Historical Museum and enjoy getting their newsletter.


	2. Chapter 2

When Karen returned to the University of Colorado's Old Main Building on Monday morning she was walking with Wen. They stood together outside the historic building before the history fellow went in and Wen left for his summer job in the library's computer lab.

The slender mathematician grinned playfully at his new girlfriend. "So, you're gonna spend the day with another man?"

Karen laughed sensually and kissed Wen on the cheek. "The ghost of anybody, even the excellent-looking Hannibal Heyes, is nobody to worry you, sweetie. And the Sumerian guys I write about have been gone even longer. See you at lunch!"

Yet when Karen got up the steep, marble steps of Old Main and into her office, she looked around a bit shyly at the Victorian wood moldings and other historic details of the office. Was the ghost of Professor Heyes in residence today?

If so, there was no sign of him. The sun shone cheerfully in the big double-hung window so brightly Karen had to lower the shade. She felt alone with her papers, books, and laptop computer. Soon, she was busily outlining a new dissertation chapter and lining up her sources. She piled articles and books on the desk.

She reached for a book on nineteenth-century archaeological digs in Sumer. She froze in surprise as she saw, next to the book she had reached for, the dark old leather binding of the book she had given to the heritage center the week before. It was the book on practical mathematics signed to Hannibal Heyes in 1891 by his mentor from Columbia University, Professor Charles Homer.

Who could have, or would have wanted, to bring the book back? Karen broke an informal rule of hers by stopping work on her dissertation before noon to do something unrelated to her academic work. She ran her hand along the thick wooden bannister as she climbed the stairs to the Heritage Center on the third floor with the book in her hand. She couldn't help thinking how Hannibal Heyes and his long dead students would have often climbed those same steps past the same elegantly turned newel posts and balusters, with the same spare brass chandeliers overhead.

"Karen, what's wrong?" Asked Mrs. Richards, the historian of the Heritage Center, in surprise when she saw the history fellow approach her desk. "You look as if you've seen a ghost. Gosh, you haven't actually seen him, have you?"

"No, but that antique mathematics text I brought up to you last week – I just found it back in my office. Here it is." She put in on Mrs. Richard's desk. "I promise, I didn't take it." Karen stated earnestly.

The university historian also looked taken aback as he opened the book and verified its identity. "Of course not. You couldn't have, unless Professor Heyes has been instructing you in opening locks. I put it in a secure cabinet." She stood and pointed to a room behind her desk. She unlocked the room and took Karen inside. There, among shelves and file cabinets, was a white metal cabinet with glass panels and a formidable-looking lock. The shelves were filled with rare books.

The historian said, "No one but me or one of the other employees here can open that cabinet. But good gracious, you can see the gap between books where the mathematics book was."

"Oh my God!" Exclaimed Karen. "Either you're playing a joke on me, or . . ."

Mrs. Richards looked extremely serious. "We may smile about our resident ghosts, Karen, but I do not mess around with historical artifacts. There are only a couple of us who can open this room or that cabinet. None of us would take anything out without telling the others or at least recording the move on the database."

"Is there a move recorded?"

Mrs. Richards shrugged. "I don't know. Let's go see." She went back to her desk, woke up the computer, and rapidly typed in some characters. "No, nothing recorded about that book since I logged it into the cabinet last week. I'm not totally sure how to log it back into the cabinet now, since it never officially left it. And who should we say moved it back to your office and when?"

"Mrs. Richards, you said it had been a long time since you saw that old math book. Where was it?" Asked Karen.

Mrs. Richards sat back in her chair, sighing. "I hate to admit it, I know it sounds nuts, but that book spent the last three years just where you found it. It was safe and sound - on the shelf in Professor Heyes' old office. The story from before I came was that every time anyone tried to put it in the library or to bring it here, it wound up back in his office. And there tended to be what I guess you would call hauntings – not ghost sightings but odd noises or other strange events - every time it was moved. We stopped being able to put professors or staff in that office. They wouldn't accept the assignment. So, when I arrived, I gave in to the stories. I left the book where it was. It's always stayed safe there. The hauntings stopped and we could use the office again. There used to be a plaque about Hannibal Heyes in that office, but we took it away to let the fuss die down. No one saw Professor Heyes again until you arrived."

Karen was startled. "Wait a minute - how did you know I saw him? Did Wen tell you?"

"Who's Wen?" Asked the senior historian.

"Winthrop Carter. He's a PhD mathematics student here. He's my boyfriend."

Mrs. Richards smiled. "Ah, that Wen. The cute boy with the blond ponytail. You work fast, Karen. Actually, Alice MacCall, the Fellowship coordinator, told me you thought you saw a man in your office. It wasn't hard to guess who it was."

"She didn't tell me . . ." Started Karen.

"Of course not. It was clear you didn't know about the office's history. She didn't want to scare you, or to make you think she was teasing you. We didn't want you to be uneasy in that office. But I suppose you want another space now." The older historian sounded resigned.

"Never! Professor Heyes feels very friendly to me. He doesn't bother me." Karen, knowing she was stretching the truth, looked down at the desk where she had placed the book. There was nothing there. "But Mrs. Richards – where did the book go?"

The senior historian's mouth opened and then closed. "He works fast, too, doesn't he?" The two historians laughed together. "As long as you keep it safe, you can keep it in your office, if that's where it went. Or maybe we should say, his office."

Karen was not that surprised to return to her office and see the familiar dark leather binding of the math book on a middle shelf, just where it had been earlier in the morning. She emailed Mrs. Richards that the book was safe back on its shelf.

But with her heart beating a little faster than normal, Karen looked up and said, to nobody who was visible, "Well, Professor Heyes, if you want your book by Professor Homer here, then it's fine with me. And it's fine with Mrs. Richards from the Heritage Center upstairs. But I do wish you'd help us to get your autobiography back from whoever stole it. Folks could learn from your book. I really want to read it."

When Karen met Wen for lunch at their favorite pizza place, she had quite a story for him. As they sat at a sidewalk café table under a red striped awning, she told her ghost story. He listened with keen interest between bites of pepperoni pizza and sips of coke. The cheerful Colorado sunshine seemed a long way from the gloom of traditional ghost stories.

"Wow!" Said the mathematics PhD student as Karen finished her unlikely tale. "Did anyone see Heyes carrying the book back to your - or his - office?"

Karen was silent for a moment. "Gosh, I didn't think of that. I didn't ask. We didn't see him take it from the desk in the Heritage Center, of course, because we were in the secure storage room when it vanished. Do you think someone might have seen his ghost walking down the hall with the book?"

Wen took up the debate with enthusiasm. "Maybe. Maybe they didn't even realize that guy with the book wasn't a regular 21st-century professor or something and didn't give him a second glance. Or maybe they might have seen the book floating down the hall? But you would have heard about that, whether or not you asked. So maybe it just materialized back in your office without crossing the space in between? Whatever happened, it sounds pretty fantastical."

Karen laughed uneasily.

Wen said, "But I will really wonder if the autobiography shows up after you asked for it. That would imply that Heyes actually knows you're here and heard what you said, and cared. I've always wondered if a ghost would really be present like a person and aware. I've heard about ghosts that were just like films playing over and over where something happened to them when they were alive – not aware of a living person there. Just going back through the motions. Like Marshall Fred White in Tombstone who hangs around where he was shot. I don't think he ever notices modern people who see him, even if they scream."

Karen shivered. "Oh, that sounds scary, whether or not the ghost notices. The living person would notice! I've heard of one famous and convincing ghost sighting from the ancient world – my period. Some British plumber during the 1950s was working up on a ladder in a really old rock cellar in York, England. He heard a loud trumpet and saw Roman soldiers in plumed helmets walking right out of the wall and past him. He was so scared, he fell off his ladder."

Wen had heard of this. "Yes, that's what I read when I was Googling ancient ghosts last night. He was terrified, which I sure understand, and tried to hide from the soldiers. But they weren't aware of him. They just marched right past, the way I guess they had done a couple of thousand years before. He said they looked as solid as living people. But he couldn't see their feet until they got into a trench - they were walking on the level of the ancient Roman road, which was more than a foot lower than the floor of the cellar. Historians thought the plumber's description of the soldiers' uniforms was wrong, but decades later they dug up arms and armor of local auxiliaries. They had different shields and stuff than the Roman regulars. The plumber had had every detail right."

Karen looked a bit pale. "That's not comforting at all, Wen. Having the soldiers not come after him might have helped the plumber some, but it still sounds really frightening. It makes me wonder if I might go to sit at my desk and find it already occupied! I guess if the ghost knew I was there, it might be worse."

"So, you've never run into a haunted Sumerian site?" Wen asked.

"No, never. The Sumerians themselves told lots of ghost stories. I used to wonder if I might see Sumerian ghosts on a dig, but I never did. And I never heard of anyone who had in modern times. I guess it was just too long ago for their vibrations or something. They were active about four to seven thousand years ago, long before the Roman soldiers the plumber saw. But the 1890s, when Heyes was here, - that's like yesterday for a ghost."

"So why are you so uneasy? You said Heyes seemed nice," said Wen.

"Yeah, nice, but also dead. Uncanny. If he showed up it would make me more than nervous!" Karen gave a shiver despite the summer heat.

Wen out his arm around he disconcerted young historian. "I'll keep you safe, honey. You want me to walk you back to your office and make sure there are no ghosts?"

"Well, since you offer, yeah. I would like that."

When they got back to her office, Karen noticed something sitting on top of the bookcase. It was well above her head, so she couldn't see more than the edge of something dark where it protruded over the front edge of the bookcase and even then, she had to stand well back. But she pointed it out to Wen. "Wen, that was not there before I went to lunch. I'm sure of it. Can you see what it is? Is it a book?"

Wen, who was much taller, craned his neck. "Yeah, it's a book alright. A big one. I can't see the title."

The eyes of both PhD students grew wide. They said almost at the same time. "Oh my God!"

Wen stood on Karen's chair while she steadied it. He took the large, heavy old book down carefully.

As he got the fat tome onto Karen's desk, Wen said, "Wow, there isn't any dust on it. The top of the book case is filthy, but the book is clean. If it had been there for even a few days, it would be dusty."

Wen handed the volume down to Karen. She put it on her desk. They could see the fancy gold lettering on the cover. It read, "The Autobiography of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry." The black leather cover was ornamented with embossed and colored pictures of two cowboy hats, two pistols, an opened safe, and a cactus. The colors were hardly faded by time. The two graduate students gasped.

Karen helped Wen down from his perch in her chair. The pair bent avidly over the handsome book. Karen's hands shook as she opened the cover. On the title page, it said the book had been written "by Doctor Hannibal Joshua Heyes in close consultation with his partner, Jedediah Curry." Just as they had suspected, it was signed and dedicated on the end paper in the author's firm, flowing hand. "To the students, staff, faculty, and alumni of the University of Colorado, with affection. Hannibal J. Heyes, PhD. August 25, 1916."

A shiver went down Karen's spine for about the third time that day. "Gosh, Wen, he heard me."

"And cared enough to pay attention. That's nice of him."

Karen took a deep breath. Then she said, "Thank you, Professor Heyes. We and Mrs. Richards will take very good care of your autobiography, and make sure the students here get to learn about you and your family."

Wen paused a moment, then added, "Yeah, thank you, Professor. My great-great-grand uncle was your friend Ev Carter. He was a great teacher. The family remembers him with pride." Karen was surprised to hear her brave boyfriend's voice shaking just a little as he finished his speech. She took his hand.

The pair climbed the steps to the heritage center, with Karen gripping their treasure to her chest.

"Look, Mrs. Richards! Wen and I found it in my office," said Karen, placing the volume on her desk. "I felt silly, but I asked Professor Heyes to help you find it, before I went to lunch. When I got back, there it was, on top of the bookcase.

"With no dust on it," added Wen. "So, it hadn't been there long. Hello, Mrs. Richards."

The Heritage Center's grey-haired historian already knew Karen's friend. "Hello, Wen. Why am I not surprised you and Karen would get to know each other?" Her eyes sparkled. Wen had spent a lot of time at the Heritage Center.

Wen smiled self-consciously. "She's pretty nice, and I guess Heyes agrees. We know where he found the math book he took back to his office. I wonder where he found his autobiography?"

"I suppose we'll never know," said Mrs. Anderson as she patted the cover affectionately. "It would sell for a pretty penny, being a signed first edition in nearly mint condition. Thank goodness, it's unharmed by its adventures. Maybe some used book seller just lost a prize bit of inventory sold to him by an impecunious and larcenous student. It's also a very interesting read. Heyes told wonderful stories, so perhaps some student or visitor just wanted it. Someone broke a glass case to get it. Professor Heyes would never have been so unsubtle. He had plenty of experience with more sophisticated way getting hold of things belonging to others. Though, of course, this actually belonged to him. Or to his school. So, he wasn't stealing to restore it to us."

Karen squeezed Wen's hand. "I hope he helps you to keep hold of it, this time, instead of taking it away as he did with his mentor's book. Can we come read it sometimes?"

"Of course! Thanks what it's for. I know the author would want you both to know what he and his partner had to say. And of course, you'll both be careful and stay in the Heritage Center. Just let me or whoever is at the desk know when you want the book and when you're done reading for the day."

Karen and Wen had lunch again the next day, this time at a local salad place.

"So, how's it going in the haunted office?" Wen asked as he put his paper napkin on his lap.

"Pretty quiet. At first, I kept wondering if he was watching me. If he is, he'll get bored in a hurry. Now I'm starting to settle in and get work done on my dissertation," said Karen. She stabbed at a cherry tomato, which escaped her fork. She stabbed again with more success. "How's your work going?"

"Oh, fine. No hauntings." He laughed. "I sure haven't told anybody else what's been going on with those books. They'd think we were nuts."

Karen sounded thoughtful. "Maybe we are. If Mrs. Richards weren't on board, I'd feel a lot sillier. She's a neat lady. Either she's playing an elaborate joke on us, or she's pretty cool with ghosts."

"And they are with her." Wen gazed at his lady friend. "And with you. I still haven't seen him."

Karen told Wen's hand. "Do you want to? See him, I mean. Could we try to go out to his house this weekend?"

The mathematics student said, "Sure. I don't have plans. Let me look into it. I know where Heyes Castle is, but it's not on any public road. I don't want to get you in trouble. But seriously, do you want to go out there to a spooky, empty old Victorian house? Considering what's already going on, we can't know what might happen."

"I'm game if you are. As long as you stay with me, I'll be good. I'm not saying I won't be scared, but you make me brave." Karen gave a Wen a quick kiss on the cheek.

"To tell you the truth, you make you brave, too, sweetie," said Wen. He kissed Karen on the lips, and not so quickly.

Both ghost hunters found a little time later that week to start reading the _Autobiography of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry_. But it was a long book and they were barely started. They didn't get past the childhood of the infamous pair.

Early Saturday morning, Wen and Karen pair drove in Karen's Jeep to a local stable just below the Flatirons. There were a few clouds scudding across the sky, but it didn't seriously look as if it would rain. It seemed a good day for a long ride. Wen's study of trail maps had revealed that a car could have gotten the pair most of the way to the old Heyes property faster than horses could. But a car would have left them stranded about five rugged miles from the lane that led to the old mansion. He couldn't see any access for cars except on private roads where they would not be welcome. But there were public trails open to horses. And seeing the countryside from horseback sounded appealing.

So, Wen and Karen got to the stable dressed in boots and jeans, with saddlebags full of water, lunch, maps, flashlights, and bug spray. They rented a pair of horses in western gear. "Thanks, Jim," said Wen to the man who ran the stable. "We'll get the horses back safely and before dark."

"You do that," laughed Jim, shaded from the bright sun by a ten-gallon hat. "You break 'em, you bought 'em. And those horses ain't cheap."

"Don't worry, Jim. We're both experienced trail riders," said Wen. "And we love horses."

The pair of ghost hunters walked their mounts on a trail through a dense pine woods, then trotted across a field. They stopped at the edge of a clearing. "You really are an experienced trail rider, right?" Wen asked Karen as he checked a map spread over his horse's withers. The calm creature was not frightened at all by the crinkling sounds of the map – he dropped his head to graze.

"As it happens, I am," said Karen, looking up from checking their location on her cell phone, "though more riding English than western. By the way, I've got only one line here. I think we're about to lose cell service entirely."

"No surprise there, with rock all around us. As long as I don't lose the trail map or drop my compass, we should be fine. There's the trail head going into the woods and up into the Flatirons. That should take us to the old Heyes estate lane, if we can stay on it in this rough country." Wen folded the map carefully, leaving their current location on top. He tucked it into a plastic bag and then into his saddle bag.

Then the rented horses, a pair of sturdy bays, were climbing the winding path on switchbacks through broken red brown rocks and dense pine woods. Wen and Karen rode with care, stopping often to rest the horses and make sure they were still on the right path. They climbed and climbed up rugged rocky paths. Then they descended into a green valley. Wen had to pull up his horse's head to keep him from browsing on the verdant undergrowth.

"Wow, look! Hannibal Heyes picked a beautiful place to build. It's like a mountain paradise," exclaimed Karen, patting her horse. "Wildflowers all over these hills."

"Yeah, and look at that waterfall up there running down that rock face!" said Wen. "And here's the path up to the house. We turn left here."

The path was rough, most of the gravel having vanished into the dirt with the years. It was too rutted for any vehicle without four wheel drive, but posed no serious problems to horses. Fortunately it hadn't rained recently, so there wasn't much mud. The setting was glorious, with dense green pines providing a dark background against which aspens shone. Snow touched rocky peaks in the distance towered against a brilliant blue sky.

"Oh, look, I see the top of a stone tower!" Exclaimed Karen. "See? It really is a Castle!"

Then they rode around a bend and came to a high chain link fence. The gate between two stone columns was secured with a massive padlock. A battered metal sign read, "Trespassers will be prosecuted."

"Rats!" spat Karen in disappointment. "But I'm no Hannibal Heyes. I won't break in just to see an empty house. We should have tried to contact the family before we came. Maybe they could let us in and show us around."

They rode up and down the high fence, but could see little of the stone house that was hidden behind trees well down the lane. The yard was too overgrown for them to be able to guess much about its appearance over a century before.

"It looks like we're stymied, at least for today," said Karen. "But somehow, I don't think Heyes and the Kid would want us to give up." She used the names Hannibal Heyes used in his book to refer to himself and his partner.

"Maybe. I don't know," said Wen. "But I think we should stop hunting their ghosts. Those guys were pretty good at avoiding pursuit when they were alive. You seem to have better luck when you just let it happen."

"So it seems," said Karen. She smiled at Wen. Things were certainly starting to happen with him.

They rode slowly in silence for a while, joining back up with the trail they had come in on. As they rounded a bend, Wen pointed ahead of them. Far in the distance, up a slope, they could barely glimpse two riders. One, in a black hat, rode a brown horse – could it be a claybank dun?; the other rider, in a brown hat, rode a black horse or perhaps it was a dark bay. As they got to a turn in the path, the two men in the distance urged their horses into a gallop that seemed reckless on so narrow and winding a mountain trail. Karen and Wen heard two faint, distant cowboy whoops. A shiver ran down both their spines. The riders vanished behind some pine trees high up the steep trail.

Karen whispered, "It can't be. It just can't be! It's just two guys."

Wen and Karen continued to ride at the walk, resisting the urge to gallop after the men they had seen. When they got to the part of the soft dirt path where the two men had been galloping minutes before, the two friends looked down. There were no hoof prints on the road, except the tracks of their own horses coming and going.

Karen laughed. "You think they're leading us on? Just giving us a glimpse like that and vanishing."

"Maybe," Wen laughed back. "Does seem like they don't want us to stop following." There was a brilliant smile on his face. "Both of them! Wow! Are you scared?"

"No," said Karen. "Or not much. Not with you here."


End file.
